


kitsune udon for the soul

by iokanaan



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Accidental Marriage Promise?, Bad Matchmaking, Cooking, Fluff, M/M, Matchmaking, Oblivious Marriage Promise??, Oblivious Pining, Pining, Pre-Relationship, jk yumie-san is amazing at matchmaking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:26:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24359539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iokanaan/pseuds/iokanaan
Summary: To his right, a door suddenly slid open, and out stepped Kita-san, accompanied by an eddy of heat from the kitchen and a mouthwatering scent.“Oh, Atsumu, hello,” he said. He was wearing a blue apron, shirt sleeves pushed up past his elbows, and from the sweat on his brow and the brush of pink across his cheeks, it was obvious that he’d only just stepped away from the stove.“Hi. Hi, Kita-san,” Atsumu stammered. His own face was turning red, too. It must have been from the heat.At the tail end of his second year, Miya Atsumu helps an old lady with her shopping, eats a lovingly home-cooked meal, and completely fails to realise his own feelings.
Relationships: Kita Shinsuke/Miya Atsumu, background Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou
Comments: 54
Kudos: 385





	1. Chapter 1

Atsumu was at the conbini after a gruelling Friday practice, grimly third-wheeling Osamu and Suna, when he spotted her.

Osamu had just dropped the line “oh, you like this brand? I like them too!” for the third time in ten minutes, after his hand had once again brushed against Suna’s as they were reaching for the same snacks, and Atsumu was just about ready to put them all out of this misery. Everyone _knew_ that Osamu liked every single brand of every single snack in the world, so why was he putting on this whole coy song-and-dance about it? And why was Suna just blushing up to his ears and letting it all slide, as if Osamu wasn’t being a complete embarrassment to Atsumu, the Miya name, and humanity at large?

The only reason Atsumu hadn’t abandoned them both in utter disgust was because Osamu owed him exactly 728 yen worth of snacks after that whole incident with Coach Oomi and the bees, and he wasn’t leaving until Osamu paid up. There was no other way to guarantee reimbursement. If that meant he had to trawl the shelves with a laser focus and intensity just to try and tune out the absolute clown show taking place right next to him, then so be it.

As Atsumu contemplated the choice between grape or melon Hi-Chew, and also between who he wanted to strangle first, his brother or his brother’s annoying crush, he caught sight of a small figure near the doors of the conbini. Bowed over with the weight of all their shopping, their white head dipped dangerously low before they managed to straighten themselves up a little.

“Will you be okay, ma’am?” the shop assistant asked anxiously, leaning over the till to watch the customer leave.

“I’ll be fine, I’ll be fine,” the customer – an old lady, from the looks of it, with sweet round cheeks – laughed. There was something vaguely familiar about her, but it wasn’t like Atsumu made a habit of memorising random old people’s faces, so he couldn’t quite place who she was. “I don’t live far, so I’m sure I can make it.”

As she slowly tottered out the door, Atsumu was about to turn back to his Hi-Chew when it suddenly hit him. He’d seen her before. Shit, he’d 100% seen her before. At their matches, and sometimes even at their practices, when they went on a little late and she decided she wanted to come pick up her grandson.

Shit! That was Kita-san’s granny! And he’d just watched her leave without even offering to help!

Before Atsumu quite registered what he was doing, he was dumping all the snacks he’d amassed into Osamu’s basket and barrelling right down the aisle after her.

“What the hell, ‘Tsumu!” Osamu yelled after him, sounding even more indignant than usual. Probably because whatever nice moment he and Suna had been having was now completely ruined after Atsumu had literally shoved them apart in his haste to chase down an old granny.

“Look, just – just buy that stuff for me, you can get whatever else you want, I’ll pay you back later!” Atsumu yelled over his shoulder, immediately regretting the ambiguous wording when he saw Osamu fist-pump and sweep a whole shelf of seaweed crisps into his basket.

“I meant I’d pay for my stuff! Just my stuff! I’m not paying for anything else!” he screamed, but by this point he was practically vaulting over the magazine displays and his words were probably lost on his shitty twin. 

Fuck. Whatever. Osamu was absolutely going to clean him out, but that was a problem for future Atsumu. Right now, he was on a mission.

The target of that mission moved surprisingly fast, for an old lady laden down with shopping bags; she was already a good way down the street before Atsumu caught up with her. As he got close enough to make out her face again, he breathed a sigh of relief. This was definitely Kita-san’s granny, at least, and not just some random senior citizen he’d decided to run after and accost.

Atsumu slowed down on the approach and made sure to straighten out his jacket collar and cuffs. A good first impression was always important with old people, after all.

“Hello, granny,” he said when he finally drew level with her, trying on his most charming smile for size. He was also trying very hard not to sound breathless from the sprint. “I saw you from across the street, and I was just wondering – would you like some help with your shopping?”

“Oh, hello there!” Kita-san’s granny said, eyes crinkling as she looked up at him. “Why, that’s very kind of you, thank you so much.”

“It’s no problem at all,” Atsumu reassured her, stooping down to relieve her of her shopping. Wow, for such a small lady, Kita-san’s granny was stronger than she looked; the weight of all these bags was not insubstantial.

Once she was freed from her burden, save for a couple of small bags that she insisted on carrying herself, Kita-san’s granny stood back and looked at him thoughtfully. “You’re one of Shin-chan’s old teammates, aren’t you? The new Inarizaki captain... Atsumu-kun, right?”

“… He’s mentioned me?” Atsumu said, trying not to sound too eager. “All good things, I hope?”

“Ah, Shin-chan only ever says nice things,” she laughed, in that way that sweet old people did when they were trying to spare your feelings by lying right to your face. As they set off down the street together, Atsumu made sure to stay slow and keep pace with her. “He’s so proud of the whole team, you know. You all played so well at the Spring High.”

“… Thanks,” Atsumu said, swallowing down the bitter taste the word left in his mouth. It had been a month and a half since they lost to Karasuno, and even despite the Inarizaki team motto, the memory of that match – of its voracious pace, of Hinata Shouyou’s endless drive, of that last minus tempo quick, of Kita-san’s final, proud smile – was still a little raw.

Kita-baahan seemed to understand. She didn’t offer any words of pity or condolence; she just hummed to herself and swung the bags she was holding back and forth by her side. 

Well, she was Kita-san’s grandmother, after all. He had to have gotten those scary powers of insight from somewhere.

“My house is just off of here,” she said when they reached a corner and turned onto a new street. “Just a bit further down this road. We’ll be there in no time at all!”

“You know, I only meant to pop out for some shichimi,” she continued, “but now look at all this! It’s just too easy to keep adding on things when you’re shopping, isn’t it? It’s lucky that we bumped into each other, Atsumu-kun – I don’t know how I would’ve managed with you!”

“It was lucky, wasn’t it? Now I get to enjoy your company on such a nice evening,” Atsumu replied, summoning up a megawatt smile. He juggled the bags so she’d be able to get a more direct view - sure, he was possibly laying it on a bit thick, but it wouldn’t hurt to get in her good books, right? That way, he might at least stand a chance of wriggling his way into Kita-san’s good books before he graduated, instead of languishing between the pages of his scrupulously-neutral-to-reasonably-bad books.

“Ho ho, you’re too sweet,” Kita-baahan chuckled, but she wasn’t even looking at Atsumu’s very handsome and extremely charming expression. Instead, she stepped right past him and pushed open the gates to a pretty, traditional-looking house with a well-tended garden. “Ah, we’re here!”

As they proceeded towards the front door, Atsumu couldn’t help how his eyes roamed restlessly about the house before him, the garden around him. He’d been here before, once or twice, but every time the inherent strangeness of the situation just got to him. Of course he knew that Kita-san didn’t go to the nearest power station every night and plug himself into the electrical grid to recharge – but somehow it hit a little differently, to see for himself the place that Kita-san called home.

“Where would you like me to leave all this?” he asked as Kita-baahan unlocked the door. She’d probably want them in the hallway, and then Kita-san could help her carry them into the kitchen; Atsumu wouldn’t even make it past the genkan. He was oddly disappointed by the thought. 

“Is inside fine?” Kita-baahan replied, bolstering Atsumu’s genkan-and-then-get-out hypothesis. She beckoned for him to shuffle into the genkan after her, and then she took a step up into the hallway proper and kept beckoning. “Come on in, come on in! Here, I’ve got some slippers for you – they should be big enough, you know, all you volleyball players are so tall but I make sure to be prepared.”

“Oh,” Atsumu said, feeling a smile come, unbidden, to his lips. “Thank you. I’m sure they’ll fit.”

They were, in fact, a little big. Kita-baahan had probably been thinking of Oomimi-level giants – although it wasn’t like Atsumu was _that_ much shorter than Oomimi, and besides, he definitely still had growing to do! 8cm was nothing! He’d catch up to Oomimi in no time, and then he _would_ fit into these slippers perfectly.

“Thank you so much, Atsumu-kun, you’ve been carrying all of this for so long,” Kita-baahan fussed over him. “Just put it down here, just here is fine.” As he set the shopping down, she turned into the house and called out, “Shin-chan, I’m home! And look who I brought back with me!”

“Welcome home!” Kita-san’s voice echoed back. “I’ll be out in a moment, granny - I’m almost done. Who’s our visitor?” Atsumu had thought it a little odd that Kita-san hadn’t greeted them as soon as he’d heard the key turn in the front door lock, but now that he strained his ears, the sound of a faint sizzling emanated from deeper within the house. Kita-san probably hadn’t been able to hear them over the sound of the cooking.

Kita-baahan flashed Atsumu a mischievous smile and pressed a finger to her lips. He played along, miming zipping his mouth shut. “Why, a prospective grandchild-in-law!” she declared.

What. _What. What?!_

“Again?” Kita-san sounded closer now, his voice louder than before, and hey, wait, what did he mean by _again?_ Was this a common occurrence in the Kita household? Exactly how often did his granny bring random people home for impromptu omiai?!

But wait, at least this meant that Atsumu met Kita-baahan’s standards for a prospective in-law, right? Even if she was just joking, it wasn’t as if she would hand over her beloved grandson to just anyone, right? So she definitely had to approve of Atsumu, at least on some level. Which meant he’d made it. He’d made it into her good books!

Damn, turned out that helping old ladies with their shopping really worked. Atsumu would have to do it more often.

To his right, a door suddenly slid open, and out stepped Kita-san, accompanied by an eddy of heat from the kitchen and a mouthwatering scent.

“Oh, Atsumu, hello,” he said. He was wearing a blue apron, shirt sleeves pushed up past his elbows, and from the sweat on his brow and the brush of pink across his cheeks, it was obvious that he’d only just stepped away from the stove.

“Hi. Hi, Kita-san,” Atsumu stammered. His own face was turning red, too. It must have been from the heat.

It felt like ages since he’d last seen him - seen him properly, at least. Atsumu had caught a glimpse of his pale head in the lunch queue yesterday, before the crowd closed in and carried him away. Kita-san still came to practice, sometimes, but he hadn’t been able to make it all week; with graduation less than a month away, he was getting busier and busier, and volleyball was becoming a smaller and smaller part of his life.

Of course, that was only to be expected. Kita-san had always made it clear that he wouldn’t keep playing past high school. Even if they’d made it past their very first match at the Spring High, they would’ve only been able to stand on the court together for a little while longer.

For a moment, Kita-san just studied him. Then the corners of his mouth tugged upwards minutely - not quite a smile. But perhaps the suggestion of one, just about his eyes.

Atsumu’s face got even warmer. Wow, that sure was some heat coming from the kitchen! Maybe they needed to fix their extractor fan.

“Here you go, Shin-chan,” Kita-baahan said, passing over one of the bags she’d personally carried all the way home. The lash of irritation that Atsumu felt as she reached between them was completely unreasonable; even he could tell that. “Sorry I took so long - I know we have lots at home, but it’s just that this one particular brand goes so well with what you’re cooking… I hope I didn’t make you wait too long!” 

“Not at all. You’re just in time for dinner,” Kita-san replied, that hint of a smile blossoming open as he received his shichimi. “You sure bought a lot again, granny. Did Atsumu help you carry it home?”

“He certainly did,” Kita-baahan beamed back at him. “Saw me struggling in the street and offered to help on the spot! You know -” and here, the look in her eyes turned sly, “- he’s such a kind young man, and so handsome too. Wouldn’t he be a nice grandson-in-law, Shin-chan?”

There was such fondness in Kita-san’s smile that Atsumu felt a bit like he’d been spiked directly in the face. Or maybe that was just the shock of such shameless matchmaking. “I’m sure he would,” Kita-san said, clearly indulging his granny. “But I don't think either of us are quite ready for marriage just yet. Are we, Atsumu?”

“Um,” Atsumu said. It was one thing to witness his old captain openly emoting towards the grandma he so dearly loved; it was quite another to have Kita-san turn the full force of that smile upon him. “Um. I. I want to win gold at the Olympics first.”

Kita-san’s expression became, if it was possible, even fonder. A trick of the light. Surely it was a trick of the light.

“There we go,” he said, turning back to his granny. “He’ll have to win gold for Japan first.”

“I eagerly await your victory,” Kita-baahan said to Atsumu, with great solemnity.

“But before then,” Kita-san continued, “Granny, what do you think about having Atsumu over for dinner?”

Kita-baahan’s face broke out into a wide smile. “That would be lovely! We certainly have more than enough food, with everything you’ve made tonight… how about it, Atsumu-kun? Would you like to stay for dinner?”

_“Yes I would love to,_ ” Atsumu blurted out. Dinner! At Kita-san’s! Eating Kita-san’s home-made food! What sort of idiot would turn that down!

Then, with a start, he remembered his manners. “Oh, but I wouldn’t want to be an inconvenience…”

“Not at all, not at all,” Kita-baahan said, her eyes crinkling. “As long as your parents don’t mind us having you over.”

“They definitely, definitely won’t mind,” Atsumu reassured her immediately. “Osamu eats enough for both of us. Osamu could eat for triplets. No, quadruplets.” 

“Well, that’s sorted, then! Come through to the kitchen and let’s all have dinner.”

God, how he just wanted to say yes right now. But Kita-baahan’s opinion of him right now had to be at an all-time high, and he couldn’t fall short of that. Through gritted teeth, he forced out just one more refusal, just to be super-ultra-extra polite: “Oh, but I really couldn’t…”

 _Ask me one more time, just ask me one more time,_ he chanted in his mind. _One more time and I can say yes!_

Like the moment before the perfect set - like snatching victory from the jaws of, well, victory - he watched Kita-baahan’s mouth open in slow motion, already forming the words _it’s fine_. But Kita-san beat her to it. 

“You should stay,” he said. “Don’t refuse something you want just to be polite.”

Atsumu nodded energetically in agreement. Of course! Only an idiot would do that! “Thank you, Kita-san, Kita-baahan! I’m looking forward to the meal!”

Once again, that suggestion of a smile on Kita-san’s face. “Let your parents know, and then we can go eat.”

One quick phone call later, Atsumu followed Kita-san into the kitchen, receiving a cheerful wave from Kita-baahan as she packed the perishables into the fridge. 

“Sit down, sit down,” she urged, and Atsumu obliged, pulling out a chair at the dining table and taking a deep breath of the enticing aroma which enveloped him. Abura-age, he thought, or perhaps something deeper, richer. Inari-age?

On the stove sat a couple of matched pans, wafting steam and that delicious smell, but before Atsumu could take a sneak peek at their contents, Kita-san stepped in front of them and began assembling the dishes. 

But that was fine; Atsumu could wait. He wanted to make the most of this rare privilege. He wanted to take everything in. All the sights and sounds of Kita-san’s home, all the smells; all the little nooks and crannies, lived-in and full of love.

The kitchen was neat and tidy, even though Kita-san had just been cooking - he was the type to wash up as he went, of course. There were orderly piles of books and magazines on the counter that separated the kitchen from the rest of the living space, and plants set all around, green and flourishing magnificently despite the winter season. Atsumu could almost see Kita-san going around with a little watering can every morning, petting the wilting leaves of the plants that weren’t getting enough sunshine, and having a stern talking-to with those that were hogging all the light.

Kita-baahan finished up at the fridge and bustled across to help Kita-san with the bowls, grabbing the shichimi along the way. Atsumu was too far away to make out all the details, but he could see that the fridge was completely covered in photos - snaps of Kita-san, in his school uniform, in Inarizaki red, in casual clothes, on holiday, most often with his grandma but sometimes with two other adults too. 

Atsumu didn’t know too much about the whole situation, but he knew it was often just Kita-san and his grandma at home. His parents were busy folks, and they were more of a presence in the baby photos - and they had to be baby photos, Atsumu was dying to look at them more closely, to pore over every last pixel of Kita-san’s adorable fluffy hair and chubby baby cheeks - than they had ever been at Inarizaki matches.

Atsumu was so busy squinting - well, glaring, more like - at the frozen faces of Kita-san’s parents that he almost missed the picture at the very top of the fridge. There, pinned right at Kita-san’s eye level, was the commemorative photo they’d taken after the Karasuno match, blown up big enough that Atsumu could read the characters behind them: _we don’t need things like memories._

“Here,” Kita-san said, prompting Atsumu to tear his eyes away from the photo, blinking quickly. He placed a bowl in front of Atsumu and set his own down opposite, while Kita-baahan took the seat at the head of the table and passed out chopsticks and chopstick rests.

“Thank you. Thank you,” Atsumu said, eyes going wide as he stared down at the meal before him. 

He’d been right; it was inari-age he’d smelled, golden-brown and perfectly seasoned, the proper home-made kind rather than overly sweet store-bought stuff. On top, Kita-san had added slices of frilled narutomaki with soft pink curls at their hearts; delicate shavings of scallions; a sprinkle of shichimi. And all this floating on a bed of udon, half-submerged in a rich dashi broth.

“Shin-chan is so talented, isn’t he?” Kita-baahan smiled, practically glowing with pride. “Kitsune udon is my favourite in the winter months, so he’s worked hard at making it for me. It’s just wonderful.”

 _Wonderful,_ Atsumu thought. Kita-san looked quietly on his granny, hair falling about his ears, not quite hiding the tender smile tucked into the corners of his mouth. The warmth from the udon unfurled around him, weaving itself into an answering warmth deep within Atsumu’s chest. Just like everything else in his life, Kita-san had done this properly - worked hard, put his whole heart into it, because it was the right thing to do. Because it made someone he loved happy.

Kita-san’s parents were idiots. Atsumu would be the luckiest person in the world, to come back to a home like this.

“Thank you for the meal,” he murmured, bowing his head, and the two Kitas - the only two Kitas he gave a shit about - followed suit.

When he glanced up, it was to see Kita-san, gazing steadily back at him. 

“Thank you for helping my granny, Atsumu,” he said. “Thank you for being here.” There was something almost soft in his gaze. Something which made it difficult for Atsumu to meet his eyes, and even more difficult to look away.

“Now,” he continued, “let’s eat.” And Atsumu gladly obeyed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing this made me so hungry, for kitsune udon and also for endlessly tender atsukita yearning :') hope you enjoyed it, and stay tuned for chapter 2!


	2. Chapter 2

When Atsumu finally got home, Osamu was lying in wait for him, quite literally, beneath the kotatsu. Somehow he’d managed to squeeze his whole body underneath, lying flat on his back with only his disembodied head sticking out and giving Atsumu grief.

“You look like you had a good time,” Osamu said, smirking at him from upside down. Atsumu almost stepped on his face out of sheer instinct. “You’re practically glowing.”

Atsumu resisted the urge to press his hands to his burning cheeks. It had been a brisk walk home on a chilly February evening, alright, with the wind nipping at his heels all the way. That was the only reason his face felt so hot. It had nothing to do with how Kita-san had very nearly smiled at him when they said their goodbyes, or how their hands had brushed as Kita-san saw him off. Absolutely nothing!

“Like, glowing from the inside, with joy and also yearning,” Osamu clarified, extremely unhelpfully. “But you’re also super, super red. Look at that nose! It’s very unflattering.”

“ _ You’re _ unflattering,” Atsumu snapped, itching to grind the heel of his foot right into Osamu’s stupid face. Unflattering! He’d give Osamu a nose to be unflattered about.

Osamu ignored him, already ploughing on to the only topic he actually cared about. “What did you have for dinner, anyway?” 

Only now was there a spark of proper interest in his eyes; he never looked this animated when he was just mocking Atsumu, the absolute bastard.

Which would piss Osamu off more, withholding the information so his imagination ran wild or making him hungry with the specifics? The specifics, Atsumu decided. He was desperate to talk about his evening, anyway; just trying to hold it in made him feel like a bottle of shaken-up Ramune, fizzing inside and full of bubbles.

“Ahhhhhh…” Atsumu said, stringing out the one syllable for a good few seconds purely to annoy Osamu. “Kitsune udon. Kita-san made kitsune udon.”

“Kitsune udon…” Osamu echoed, already starting to drool slightly.

_ Yes, be jealous! Be jealous!  _ “Ahhh, it was so good. It was so-ooo good,” Atsumu continued, only too happy to twist the knife in further, only too happy to keep talking about Kita-san’s cooking. Who was it that just let out a dreamy sigh? Couldn’t have been him. Must’ve been Osamu. “You know he makes his own dashi? You know he seasons his own inari-age? God, you really missed out, 'Samu. I don’t know what his secret ingredient is, but I think,” he took a deep breath, “it has to be love.”

“Gross,” Osamu said, his expression ricocheting so rapidly between disgust and awe that it somehow collided into the ugliest face Atsumu had ever seen. Oh wait, that was just Osamu's face normally.

"I'm telling Kita-san you said that!" 

Osamu rolled his eyes. “I’m not talking about Kita-san’s cooking, I’m talking about you.” He slithered out from under the kotatsu, skilfully dodging Atsumu’s foot each time he tried to acquaint it with Osamu’s ugly face. Damn those volleyball reflexes.

Osamu headed for his backpack, probably to retrieve some snacks. Atsumu was tempted to follow him across the room, kicking him as he went, but for once he decided to leave it. He was stuffed too full with kitsune udon, too happy and satiated to let Osamu bring his mood down. Sinking down beside the kotatsu, he wriggled his legs underneath it and pressed his cheek to the table top, luxuriating in its warmth.

"Aha!" Osamu declared, finally done fishing around in his backpack. He spun around to face Atsumu again and, with a ceremonious flourish, dangled a long strip of paper right in front of his nose.

"What's this," Atsumu said, barely bothering to suppress a yawn.

"What do you think it is? It's my snack receipt," Osamu replied. Then, as magnanimous as Kannon on high, he added: “Don’t worry, I took off the 782 yen I owed you.”

Atsumu’s gaze drifted down to the total, trying to make sense of the blur of zeroes. “Hey, what  _ the fuck,” _ he said, eyes snapping into focus as he shot up from the kotatsu and made a grab for the receipt.  _ “4000 yen?! _ What the hell were you buying, two whole Ruby Roman grapes?! And wait, what’s this 1000 yen you’ve added on top of it?!"

“I bought all of Suna’s snacks, too, since you were paying,” Osamu explained, as if Atsumu was the slow one. “And that’s not interest, that’s my 25% matchmaker’s fee.”

_ “Matchmaker’s fee?!” _

Osamu looked at him askance, as if he really was the slow one. “Well, you got to spend the evening at Kita-san’s  _ and _ eat his home-cooked food  _ and _ elevate your standing with your future grandmother-in-law, so I’d say it’s a pretty good deal.”

Atsumu flushed all the way down to his neck. With anger. With anger!

_ “In-law? _ W-what do you mean, in-law?!”

Osamu watched him with deep pity in his eyes. “Still in denial, Atsumu? So embarrassing. Everyone knows that your ten year goal is to play at the Olympics with Kita-san’s ring on your finger and his name emblazoned on your back.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Atsumu snapped back, practically incandescent with rage. His good mood from before had completely dissipated, the udon churning furiously in his stomach. What did Osamu know? What the fuck did Osamu know, huh? Atsumu had never, ever dreamed of going to the Olympics with Kita-san’s ring on his finger and Kita-san’s name on his back! Never! No way! Not even when he’d helped himself to a bit too much of Osamu’s expensive cheese and ended up having those really  _ really _ weird dreams!

And besides, hadn’t he told Kita-san and Kita-baahan that he wanted to win gold  _ before  _ he got married? So of course he wouldn’t have Kita-san’s name on his back at the Olympics! After all, what sort of person would he be if he went back on his word now? Kita-baahan would never let her beloved grandson marry someone like that. Osamu didn’t know shit. Osamu didn’t know shit!

“You don’t know shit!” Atsumu shouted. “You want to know what’s actually  _ embarrassing? _ Using  _ my _ money for your weird snack-based courtship ritual! As if Suna’s ever going to want to marry you if you can’t even support him with your own cash! What sort of husband would you be, constantly extorting money from your twin brother? Go woo him with the sweat off your  _ own  _ brow, Suna Osamu!”

Osamu’s face twisted, and, no, Atsumu had been wrong before,  _ this _ was the ugliest expression his brother had ever pulled.

“Well, actually, if we’re talking about  _ extortion _ and  _ theft _ and  _ debt, _ you fucking  _ owe  _ me that money after all the food you’ve stolen from me! And  _ Suna Osamu,  _ what the hell are you talking about,” he snarled. “You’ve really got shit for brains if you don’t think I’ll be keeping my name after marriage! Don’t you know  _ anything _ about coherent branding? I’m going to set up my own Miya food business and then I’ll have more than enough money to keep Suna - no, Miya Rintarou - in style! Or still Suna Rintarou, if he wants to keep his name too! I’m happy either way!"

"And what about you, eh, shit for brains?" he continued, tone turning viciously taunting. "At least I know when I like someone! You ever going to admit to yourself that you have a crush on Ki-"

"NO SHIT, YOU'RE SHIT," Atsumu howled, and lunged straight for Osamu's throat.

  
  


Things weren't much better the next day. After their parents broke up the fight, Atsumu won the coin flip for the top bunk, but all that had meant was a terrible night's sleep because Osamu wouldn't stop kicking the underside of his bed.

He'd also had some  _ really _ weird dreams, which he chalked down to all that kicking. Osamu had rattled his brain cells so out of order that he couldn't even properly remember what happened in them. All he could recall was the sting of the ball against his palm as he scored; the victorious roar of the crowd; the golden glint of a medal hung around his neck as he got down on one knee and pulled out a ring for - 

For whom? He really couldn't remember. Someone with a nice smile, perhaps, and such serious eyes, turning sweetly radiant, brimming over with joyful tears.

Like he said. Just real fuckin’ weird shit. He definitely wasn’t going to think too hard about it.

"You alright, Atsumu?" Gin asked, wearing a slightly worried frown. Probably warranted, given that Atsumu was standing stock-still in the middle of the gym, clutching his club jacket in his hands and staring at it in complete silence, rather than helping to set up Saturday practice.

Had he been wearing red in his dream? Somehow it felt like he had.

“He’s fine. He's just lovesick and in denial,” Osamu scoffed. He shot Atsumu a nasty glare, the effect of which was further enhanced by the massive dark bags under his eyes. He hadn't slept well either, after all. Served him right for staying up all night to kick the shit out of Atsumu's bed.

"I have never been sick in my  _ life _ ," Atsumu hissed, flinging his jacket at Osamu's terrible sneering face. He didn’t even deign to acknowledge the  _ love _ bit, determined not to give Osamu any more ammunition in this campaign of mental warfare.

"Oh, that's weird," Osamu said, voice muffled as he wrestled his way out from under all that red fabric, emerging like a gross sleep-deprived monster surfacing out of a pool of blood.

The red in his dream had been a lot nicer, Atsumu decided. Not quite so dark. Almost… national team red.

… Was that what he’d been dreaming of, then? Playing for Japan…?

"I seem to recall this one time last year,” his gross sleep-deprived monster of a twin continued, completely throwing Atsumu off his train of thought, “when you actually  _ did _ get sick, and you still insisted on coming to practice just so you could sneeze on everyone, and then you got scolded by Kita-san for sneezing on everyone, and  _ then _ our illustrious ex-captain left you a care package with a get well soon note… and  _ now _ where do you keep that note, again?”

_ “Nowhere,” _ Atsumu insisted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t keep anything anywhere. I’ve never kept anything in my  _ lif–” _

Osamu kept on talking right over him, voice getting louder and louder as he tried to drown out Atsumu’s vehement denials. Gin scuttled away from them both, making some excuse about helping to set up the second-string gym, which was great because Atsumu  _ really  _ didn't need anyone hearing this.

Too bad that Osamu's voice carried. Too bad that he could probably be heard in motherfucking  _ Miyagi.  _

“In FACT, I seem to recall that you keep it PINNED UP BESIDE YOUR BED. And that you BRING IT WITH YOU EVERY TIME WE SWAP BUNKS -”

_ “NO I DON’T,” _ Atsumu screamed, ignoring the fact that he very much did. Ignoring the fact that he had very much done so last night; and that, once he’d pinned the note up, he’d smoothed out the paper with a gentleness that he hadn’t even known he’d possessed, fingers absently tracing the clear, deliberate pen strokes telling him to  _ eat a proper meal and sleep. _

It was just – a nice reminder, that was all. To take care of himself. That other people cared.

"What's this?" Suna drawled, popping up from nowhere, wielding his phone like the weapon of mass destruction it truly was. "Are we bullying Atsumu about his embarrassing crush again?"

_ “Yes,” _ Osamu said, at exactly the same time as Atsumu shouted:  _ “NO! _ What crush! I don’t have a crush! I’ve never had a crush in my  _ li-” _

Shit, his voice was starting to crack. He took a deep breath and changed tack.

“Y’know, if we’re actually going to be talking about embarrassing crushes,” he hissed, and now both Osamu and Suna were starting to look very uncomfortable, which served them  _ fucking right _ – “then how about all those snacks you two shared yesterday, eh? How about  _ your _ own massive embarrassing crush, eh, S-”

He hadn't yet decided if he was going to expose 'Samu or Suna, or both, before he was suddenly being pulled into a furious headlock by his twin. Osamu’s hand slapped straight across his mouth – a rookie mistake, because it meant Atsumu could easily retaliate by sticking his tongue out and licking his palm.

“Gross, gross, I hate you, I fucking hate you,” Osamu chanted, tightening his grip on Atsumu’s neck, intent on choking the absolute shit out of him. “Gross, gross, GROSS –”

To their right, a door suddenly slid open. A jolt of frosty air spiked through the gym. “Atsumu, Osamu,” a familiar voice rang out, as crisp and bracing as any wintry breeze. “What’s all this about?”

The two of them immediately stopped their squalling. Suddenly freed from Osamu’s headlock, Atsumu stumbled and was almost sent sprawling, only regaining his balance at the very last moment.

“Kita-san,” he said, his voice coming out just a little short of breathlessness. Breathlessness from his near-fall, of course; from the embarrassment of nearly pitching over onto his ass in front of Mr Perfect Kita Shinsuke, whose calm, steady footsteps tapped out a stately counterpoint to the rabbit-beat of Atsumu’s heart.

“What happened?” Kita-san asked as he came to a stop right before Atsumu – and maybe it was just Atsumu’s ears playing tricks, desperate for even a hint of the fondness from last night, but he sounded almost… amused. A suggestion of a smile, lingering in his voice; in the stern shape of his mouth, tugging upwards at the corners, wry and a little sweet.

And whoops, there Atsumu’s heart went again: haring off like some wild thing, unable to outrun the weight of Kita-san’s presence or his gaze.

Osamu, of course, took this opportunity to run his big fat mouth.

_ “Well, _ Kita-san,” he declared, while Atsumu’s heart climbed all the way up his throat and threatened to leap right out if he said a single word, “’Tsumu is a liar who doesn’t keep promises and  _ won’t pay me back.” _

“No – NO I’M NOT,” Atsumu squawked, firmly shoving his heart back where it belonged so he could defend himself in the face of this absolute slander. Keeping one eye on Kita-san, just in case he missed something amazing, like an actual full-on laugh, he fixed the other on Osamu and tried to set him on fire with his mind. “I said I’d pay you back for my  _ own _ snacks! Not 4000 yen for whatever snack-buying spree you and Suna went on while I was helping Kita-baahan with her shopping! Or that bullshit 1000 yen matchm –”

He caught himself at the last moment. Kita-san got enough guff about marriage from his granny, he didn’t need to know about Osamu’s own attempt at matchmaking racketeering! “Umm, I mean that bullshit 1000 yen extra fee you added on for absolutely no reason!”

“For setting you up with Kita-san, more like,” Suna muttered, although he shut up quick enough when Atsumu shot him an absolutely incendiary glare. He should’ve known Osamu and Suna had come up with the idea of the extra fee together; they truly were a match made in hell.

His attempts at pyrokinesis were, unfortunately, a miserable failure. Suna was only really being kept in line by the threat of Kita-san’s icy disapproval, and Osamu just snorted and said, “Did you or did you not say, verbatim,  _ just buy that stuff for me, you can get whatever else you want, I’ll pay you back later?” _

“No!” Atsumu snapped reflexively, before realising that lying on instinct probably wasn’t the best look. “I mean, yes - but you’re twisting my words! You’re twisting the  _ meaning _ of my words. Obviously I meant that I’d pay you back for my own stuff and my own stuff  _ only,  _ not that you could – could  _ extort _ me into paying for yours as well!”

Osamu’s face twisted into yet another fantastically ugly expression. “What are you talking about, it’s not  _ extortion  _ –”

“Um,  _ yes  _ it fucking is –”

_ “No it isn’t –“ _

_ “Yes it -“ _

“I’ll pay for it,” Kita-san said. His voice cut through their squabbling like a knife. Both Atsumu and Osamu whipped their heads around to stare at him.

“You were helping my granny, right?” he continued, every word carefully measured and weighed out. “That’s why Osamu ended up spending so much money. So I’ll pay for it.”

This was Kita-san, through and through; stepping up and taking responsibility, doing exactly what needed to be done. Cold logic, socking him with the truth: Atsumu had helped Kita-san’s granny, so now Kita-san was helping Atsumu. Purely transactional.

_ “NO,” _ Atsumu yelled. The words kept tumbling out of his mouth without any input from his brain. “No - there’s no need, Kita-san! It’s fine, I’ll pay for it, I’ll pay for it all!”

His day really was going from bad to worse, and it wasn’t even 9AM yet.

Kita-san just looked mildly confused. Well, his left eyebrow twitched upwards in the way that meant he was mildly confused.

“Isn’t this fine?” he said. “This way everyone’s satisfied.”

_ “I’m _ not satisfied!” Atsumu protested, heart thumping frantically in his chest. “You don’t need to pay me back for helping your granny, Kita-san, it’s not something I want to be  _ repaid  _ for. I did it because I wanted to – because I wanted to help! You don’t  _ owe _ me anything. You’d never owe me anything, especially when you’ve already made dinner for me, when you’ve already repaid me with –” and suddenly he was in verbal freefall, propelled forwards purely by the momentum of his words.

“You’ve already repaid me with love!” he burst out, his voice too loud for the gymnasium, reverberating against the walls like a serve smashed far out of bounds. “With the udon you made with such love! If you really feel like you have to repay me, that’s already – that’s already more than enough!”

Silence. Hideous, humiliating silence: the kind of silence which made Atsumu wish that he’d never been born, that Osamu had just strangled him in the womb and spared Atsumu all the misery and embarrassment which had lead him right up to this moment of time when –

When Kita-san was laughing. A blink of his sphinx-like eyes, a tremble of his shoulders – and suddenly he was laughing, the sound bursting into existence, sending sweet tingling shocks running up and down Atsumu’s spine.

That curious electricity only seemed to intensify, even as the last note of laughter faded away all too soon. “You’re right,” Kita-san said seriously, but he was smiling, still smiling, taking a step towards Atsumu. “Atsumu. I didn’t invite you to dinner with the intention of repaying you.”

He tilted his head back to meet Atsumu’s gaze, his hair brushed with silver under the fluorescent lights of the gym. “I just wanted you to be there, with me and my granny. I just wanted you to enjoy the meal.”

“I did,” Atsumu promised, his throat dry. “I really did.”

“Then I’m satisfied,” was all Kita-san said. He was so close now that Atsumu could have reached out and smudged his fingertips against the pop of colour high on his cheeks; against the warm, unguarded curve of his mouth. But there were some things that even Atsumu, who had once grasped a livewire on an ill-advised primary school dare, couldn’t bear to touch.

“Be clearer with what you say, next time,” Kita-san continued, the reprimand softened by his rare smile. Then, turning away from Atsumu – still remaining within reach – he addressed Osamu and Suna with rather more sternness in his voice. “You both knew what he meant, though. You shouldn’t have taken advantage of the ambiguity of his wording.”

“Yes, Kita-san,” Osamu and Suna mumbled in unison, still so shell-shocked by the sound of Kita-san’s laughter that the scolding didn’t quite seem to register.

“Go warm up,” Kita-san told them, before turning back to Atsumu and correcting himself. “Ah, no. Sorry, Captain –” and now he was addressing Atsumu again, smiling up at Atsumu again – “You’re the one leading practice. It’s your call.”

“Three laps around the gym, both of you,” Atsumu declared immediately, not even sparing a glance at his shitty twin or his shitty twin’s shitty crush. The word  _ Captain _ reverberated in his ears, Kita-san’s voice tinged with such fondness, such impossible fondness, fizzing and sparking beneath his skin.

“Fuck you,” Osamu replied just as immediately, but nothing could bring Atsumu down.

_ “Five laps,” _ he said, singsong, still walking on clouds. “Remember to stretch first. And then – five laps!”

_ “Fuck _ you,” Osamu spat, before Suna dragged him away by the collar with a muttered “Don’t provoke him, it’ll be ten laps next.”

“Ten laps would be excessive,” Kita-san remarked, as ever the voice of reason. His expression had almost completely returned to its usual impassivity, but still an imprint of fondness remained – in the curve of his eyes, the soft slant of his lips.

“Yeah, wouldn’t want to tire them out completely,” Atsumu said, although, deep down, he really did. Maybe then they’d finally stop annoying him. “They’ve both got good stamina; I’ve talked to the coaches and we want them to work on that, since half of our main roster is graduating this year.”

Kita-san inclined his head in acknowledgement, which Atsumu took as permission to continue. “We’re getting a whole new crop of first-years, and having some back-up firepower during long games will help smooth the transition for them. We want them to be confident that we have their backs, y’know? So they can just go out there and play their hearts out.”

For a moment Kita-san just watched him, unblinking. The fluorescent bulbs of the gym, the winter sun – light layered over light, catching his eyes so peculiarly that it made something in Atsumu’s chest twist.

“You’re doing a good job,” he said finally, and that nameless something twisted itself right out of Atsumu’s chest.

“… Thanks,” Atsumu mumbled. What more could he say?  _ Thank you so much. You’re going so soon. You did so much for me, for us, and I don’t know if I can do the same. _

Well, he knew how Kita-san would reply to that –  _ you don’t need to. I just did it because I wanted to. You can do it your own way. _

“Kita-san,” Atsumu tried, then stopped. Where was he going with this? Really, what more  _ could  _ he even say?

Kita-san didn’t push him. He simply stood before him, quietly watching Atsumu, watching Atsumu watching him: Kita Shinsuke, who always did things with such purpose, who always did things with such love. 

It was unbearable. Absolutely unbearable, the weight and the lightness of his gaze. And his eyes - cloudless, radiant, suffused with gold.

“... Kita-san,” Atsumu said again. “Come over for dinner tonight?” 

Kita-san blinked up at him. 

“Only if you want to!” Atsumu added, mouth desert-dry, sweat starting to prickle his palms. “Can’t promise it’ll be much good, but I’ll - I’ll make it for you. I’ll make something you like. So please - if you want to. Please come over for dinner.”

The light had shifted, but Kita-san's eyes, his gaze - they never wavered. No less fathomable, no less gold. And then, all of a sudden, there it was: the beginning of a smile on his face. 

“Sure,” he said softly. “I’d love to.”

“But I hope this isn’t you trying to repay me for last night - repaying dinner with dinner,” Kita-san continued, his voice going a little stern even as his smile grew wider, so sweetly incongruous that it made Atsumu’s head spin.

“What -  _ No!” _ Atsumu spluttered, completely flustered by the two-hit combo of Kita-san’s gentle reprimand and his even gentler smile. “I’m not  _ repaying  _ you! I just - I just want to make you a meal, and I want you to enjoy it!”

After the whole conversation they’d had about not wanting to repay each other, how could Kita-san not know this! But that was what tipped Atsumu off - that, and the crinkle of Kita-san’s eyes; the impish twitch of his mouth. He almost couldn’t believe it. 

“Kita-san,” he said slowly. “Are you - are you  _ teasing _ me?”

Kita-san blinked up at him again, very deliberately, lashes casting sly shadows against the curve of his cheeks. “Well, I just wanted to make sure,” he said, perfectly solemn and definitely, 100% teasing.

_ “Kita-san,” _ Atsumu protested, equal parts scandalised and delighted. “You can’t just  _ do _ that. That’s not allowed!”

Kita-san tilted his head. At this angle, his close-mouthed smile looked almost affectionately crooked. “Why not?”

“How - how am I going to survive if  _ you _ start teasing me?!” Atsumu cried. “And especially if you tease me while I’m trying to make dinner for you! I’ll mess up! I’m not exactly a ‘Samu-level chef in the first place; I gotta work hard and focus when I’m cooking so I don’t disappoint you. Or give you food poisoning!”

“You won’t disappoint me,” Kita-san replied, with such devastating certainty that Atsumu couldn’t help but believe him too. “You work so hard, and you put your whole heart into things. So even if it’s not perfect, you’d never disappoint me.”

“Although you  _ might _ give me food poisoning,” he added thoughtfully. “But it's fine. I'll survive."

"Cold, Kita-san!"

It  _ was _ cold, on that winter's morning; colder still when Gin finally emerged from the second-string gym, and when Osamu and Suna staggered back in to find Atsumu and Kita-san running drills together, ready to put the whole team through its paces. A Saturday practice like any other, right down to the way Atsumu only took his eyes off the court for Kita-san, whose impassive expression barely shifted for the entire duration of practice.

But once practice was over, Kita-san’s smile slowly blossomed open once more. As they ventured out into the cold winter afternoon together, and headed to the supermarket to buy supplies for dinner together; as their fingers brushed while reaching for the same package of tofu, Atsumu’s hand lingering against his for just a beat too long. As Atsumu fumbled his way around the kitchen, chasing Osamu out whenever he tried to “help”. As Atsumu carefully assembled a slightly misshapen tofu hamburger beneath Kita-san’s watchful eyes, and as Kita-san took his first bite… 

He smiled at Atsumu, and didn’t stop smiling. A smile for Atsumu and Atsumu alone, brimming over with warmth and wonder and delight. A smile to come home to, to make dinner for, again and again, as many times as Kita-san liked.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> osamu giving his best man's speech at atskt's wedding: ... and that's why I'm now charging a 250% matchmaker's fee. pay up, tsumu!!
> 
> ringing in the new year with chapter 2 of kitsune udon - hope you enjoyed it!! there may be a post-timeskip epilogue in store, but I'm not sure I'll get round to writing it, so consider this fic finished... for now ^^ I love reading all your comments and hearing your thoughts, so please do drop me a comment if you'd like! thank you for reading, and may your 2021 be full of love, good food, and good cheer <3


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